


Disconnected Connection

by dottie_wan_kenobi



Series: January Prompt Event [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe, Black Family Drama (Harry Potter), Gen, Nymphadora Tonks's school years, POV Regulus Black, Potions Accident, Professor Regulus Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/dottie_wan_kenobi
Summary: Professor Regulus Black has questions on how he's supposed to treat his lost cousin Andromeda's daughter. In the end, it takes a potions accident to bring them together.Written for the January Prompt Event Day 7: Accidents
Relationships: Regulus Black & Nymphadora Tonks
Series: January Prompt Event [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087082
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75
Collections: Bat Family 18+ Discord Server January Prompt Event





	Disconnected Connection

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in 1984, when Regulus is 23 and Tonks is 11. I've always been interested in the idea of Tonks meeting Draco, but for this one I decided to go for Prof. Black! 
> 
> Sorry about that title LMAO I'm not good at them
> 
> To be clear, I heavily disagree with JKR's transphobic views. Transphobes are not welcome here. Goodbye.

Regulus doesn’t recognize her, the first time he sees her. Not that he could, anyway, having never met her before that day, September 1st. That was the funny thing about family—in the wake of a war, it didn’t hurt nearly so much to fall apart, to leave behind the duties he never wanted in the first place and the people who were too close and too distant all at once.

All this to say that Regulus has not truly spoken to his cousin Andromeda since 1972. He’d met Ted Tonks once, an awkward affair in Diagon Alley where Mother practically spit on his robes and dragged Regulus away before his Muggle-ness could taint him. He’d only heard about Nymphadora in the Prophet, a birth announcement for the daughter of a traitor.

He doesn’t think of family much these days. His cousins scattered, his aunt and uncles dead or unbearable to be around, his brother in prison and Father dead… all he has, really, is Mother and Kreacher. And Mother is a terror with her ailing health, wanting to talk about nothing more than the once great House of Black and how he’s hardly fit to lead it, once Grandfather Arcturus finally dies. 

Not exactly his conversation topic of choice, that.

It’s easy to avoid them at Hogwarts. He was the youngest in the family for a long time, and he knows that Narcissa’s son won’t be starting school for some time yet. There’s no reason for any of them to appear at the school. All he has to do, really, is avoid the portraits of Phineas Nigellus Black. Not too hard a task for him, when he only ever leaves the dungeons for meals.

Through this, the school, and more specifically his quarters, have become a haven for him, free of the stress and trauma that his upbringing was full of. There are long stretches of time where he doesn’t think about his family or blood purity or anything. Those are good times, bolstered by the presence of students and their constant need of his help. It feels good to help them, to care for them as he does—it’s warming like a charm to see them smile at their good grades and Quidditch wins.

He loves being a professor. He has a purpose, a place in the world. Though he’s not foolish enough to think he’s making a large impact, or even a medium-sized one, he can feel that he’s putting good out there, that his efforts are aimed for the better. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

* * *

As a professor, he’s expected to be there for the Sorting. He doesn’t mind it much, though it is boring more often than not, since this generation is full of children he has few if any connections to. He recognizes the family names, those rarely change, but by the time these little first years were born, he was already in school. He doesn’t know them.  
Of course, he isn’t expecting to hear the name Nymphadora Tonks.

His head doesn’t snap up—he’s been trained very well indeed on keeping a mask on at all times—but, casually, he does scan over the line of children, which has dwindled considerably. A little girl fairly skips out of the line, her skin a more tanned color like Ted’s, her smile bright and excited. Her hair is long, wavy and dark like Andromeda’s. When she sits on the stool, the Hat hardly takes half of a minute to declare her a Hufflepuff, and she beams as she skips her way to the correct table.

Regulus looks down at the table in front of him. If he were Sirius, he would seek her out and welcome her into the fold as easy as anything. If he were Mother, he would shun and alienate her, make it clear there would be nothing between them, shared blood or not. He doesn’t know what Andromeda wants him to do about this, if she even knows or has thought about it at all. 

In the end, as another Weasley child is sent to Gryffindor and the whole thing is wrapped up, Regulus decides he won’t treat her any differently than he does any other Hufflepuff. Distant but not cruel. That will have to be good enough.

* * *

The first class they have together, she’s a bit quiet, in that way that children are when they’re learning how to handle a new teaching style. He doesn’t hold her back when class ends, and only speaks to her enough to correct the way she and girls she’s sitting with have laid out their supplies.

The second class they have together, he has to ask her twice to not talk while he’s giving instructions, and takes 5 points from Hufflepuff when she accidentally knocks over a vial mid-conversation and shatters it on the floor. Once the hour is over, he sits at his desk and he thinks about writing to Andromeda. He doesn’t know what he would say, why he would do it—he doesn’t have questions, exactly. Just an uncomfortably vague idea of how he’s supposed to treat her daughter. What could he say? 

_Hello Andromeda. It’s been twelve years since you were disowned, I am eternally surprised by how time flies. Anyway, enough small talk. Your daughter. Does she know about me? Did you ever tell her about any of us? Why is she so hyperactive and how do I make it stop? Sincerely, Cousin Regulus_

Ha! No, he couldn’t. He doesn’t. There’s no use writing her, and so he sets the thoughts aside as the next class comes in, chattering and bickering about the cold dungeons. He relaxes a bit into the more familiar dynamics of the fourth years, and doesn’t think about his family for the rest of the day.

* * *

They’re in the third week of school when something finally happens. The first years are attempting a rather simple potion, meant to teach them the importance of reading the instructions and mastering precise movements. There are consequences to getting things wrong, most of them minor thankfully but some serious enough that Regulus doesn’t go to sit at his desk and let them work like he normally does. Instead, he walks around the room, checking over the potions and correcting every misstep he catches. He tries to be gentle, aware that these children know nothing more than what he’s previously taught them.

(Some cringe away from him. Half-bloods who know to be wary of the Black family. More timid children who’ve heard the rumors about him, about how he’s strict and cruel. Evidently, no one is telling these poor first years that he’s only strict with the older years who should know better than to play around in his classroom.)

When he gets to Nymphadora’s cauldron, he notices immediately that it’s off-color. 

“What happened here?” He asks, stopping on the other side of the table and checking her supplies. Some of them, he’d carefully measured out and given to each child, while others he left for them to handle on their own, a way to test their skills in a more safe manner. That’s when he sees the flower, stemless when it should’ve been stripped of the petals.

She sees where his eyes have gone, and quickly defends herself (even though he hasn’t said anything), “You said to pluck it! I thought that meant the stem. It had those little cuts, I thought that’s where you were supposed to rip it at!”

He holds in a sigh. Just because it seems obvious what he meant to him doesn’t mean that’s true for everyone. (That was a hard lesson to learn, at first, but after a few years of teaching, it’s easier to accept.) Gazing down the table, he sees the girls she often sits with have done it correctly, and though theirs are also a bit off-color, they’re close enough he’s not too concerned.

Nymphadora’s on the other hand. It’s roiling a bit now, a concerning sign. He takes out his wand, preparing to put a stasis charm over it so he can move it to the back. It’ll have to be dealt with there, once class is over. He’s honestly not sure what could happen, having never seen this particular misstep before. “You were supposed to pluck the petals, Miss Tonks. You’ll have to start over.”

She frowns at him, her eyebrows coming together in a way that reminds him of both Sirius and Narcissa, and Grandfather Pollux too. “That’s not fair,” she starts to say.  
Stubborn to a fault. Oh, how he hates that family trait. “You can either start over or I can give you a Poor grade. Your choice.”

Before she can say anything, the cauldron starts to bubble. Cursing under his breath, he shoos the students back, and all but Nymphadora listen. She takes a few steps away but doesn’t scramble back to the walls like the others do, frightened after some insolent sixth year in their house decided it would be fun to terrify them with stories of potions accidents.

He’s just starting to say, “Miss Tonks, step _back_ —” when the potion explodes in his face.

* * *

They’re lucky. The sludge leaves itchy spots over any skin it touches, but it doesn’t burn or sear or leave anything peeling. They’re lucky, and he knows it.

Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey is quite strict about healing under her watchful eye. And even more unfortunately, it turns out Nymphadora has inherited the other annoying family trait of being absolutely terrible patients.

“Professor Black, lay back down this instant,” Pomfrey commands, scurrying into the room from her office. “Really, you ought to set a good example for your students. We cannot have them—or you!—running about, liable to collapse any minute. Goodness, you’re just like your brother.”

Regulus freezes at the mention of Sirius, but Pomfrey doesn’t seem to notice or care. She pushes his shoulder back down against the bed, and he lets her, straining as he tries not to irritate the itchy spots. 

“Now, I will be with you in a moment. I need to get Miss Tonks taken care of first. Don’t you dare scratch, I will know if you do!” She doesn’t wait for a response before heading to the bed across from his own, where Nymphadora is sitting up and looking awfully bored. Pomfrey pulls out some sort of salve. Regulus looks away as she starts to apply it all over his cousin’s face and hands.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to do it. My friends said I was doing it wrong but I thought he meant the stem! And now look what happened,” she says to Pomfrey, a bit plaintive. Pomfrey consoles her in low tones, and Regulus holds in a sigh. Yes, he does love his job, but sometimes children are just… too much. He struggles to reassure and comfort those from other Houses, who always need a softer touch than he knows how to give.

Absently, he reaches up to scratch his chin, only catching himself at the last second. He does sigh, then, annoyed with himself and with the knowledge that his students had to witness what happened. The older kids are probably spreading the gossip around right now. _Little brats,_ he thinks with some amount of fondness.

His attention is caught then as, in a whisper, Nymphadora asks, “Do you think Professor Black is angry?”

Pomfrey matches her tone, but Regulus can still hear her rather clearly. “Oh, sweetheart, I doubt it. He’s been working here for a few years now, you know, and you’re hardly the first student to have a mishap with a potion. I’m sure he knows it was just an accident. I’ve only ever seen him be upset when it wasn’t, you understand. There, all done. You’ll stay here until this dissolves and we’ll see if the itching is gone by then, alright?”

“Alright,” she exhales.

Pomfrey stands and moves back to his side. He sits up as she sits down on the edge of the thin mattress, and submits himself like a child to her care. As she dabs the salve on his face, she asks, “Looks just like her mother, doesn’t she?”

Today, Nymphadora’s hair is spiky and blue, and her nose is more button-y than it usually is. Her eyes, though, are the same dark brown shade that Andromeda has.

“I suppose, a bit,” he says. 

Across the room, she frowns. “Are you talking about me? How do you know my mother?”

“They’re cousins, dear,” Pomfrey tells her. She turns Regulus’s chin so he has to look up and to the side. He can’t even be annoyed by the manhandling, not when the salve numbs all of the itchy spots quite nicely.

“What?” She demands, the bed creaking like she’s leaning forwards. “I knew Mum had some stuffy old family but—”

“Miss Tonks! That is quite rude—”

“No,” Regulus interrupts. “She’s not wrong, Pomfrey. Andromeda has good reason to be upset, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He knows that the Prophet talked extensively about every disownment. Neither Andromeda nor Sirius ever gave any statements, of course. And Uncle Alphard couldn’t. But still, it’s known to some degree that they’re both blood traitors. Were, in Sirius’s case.

“My dad said her parents kicked her out because they’re stupid blood purists who wanted to sell her off to the highest bidder,” Nymphadora says. Though her words are bright, the expression on her face is very different, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes intense—he feels almost like he’s being tested.

“Yes, well. Uncle Cygnus always was rather uncaring towards his daughters.” That was one freedom he and Sirius were afforded—they could choose from a pool of pure-blooded girls, whereas his cousins were told who they were to marry. Andromeda had run away from a forced marriage to a Rosier boy, and he’s sure she’s better off for it. Unsure of how much she knows or how much he’s supposed to say, he doesn’t elaborate out loud.

They’re all quiet for a few minutes until Pomfrey finishes up with him. She admonishes them both not to scratch and not to leave before returning to her office. Regulus leans back against the pillows, wishing he had something to read at least if he was going to be stuck there for gods knew how long.

“So,” Nymphadora suddenly says, her voice breaking through the calm quite of the Hospital Wing. “If we’re cousins, does that mean you won’t give me a Poor on this potion?”

Regulus closes his eyes.

It’s going to be a long, long seven years.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [dottie-wan-kenobi](https://dottie-wan-kenobi.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you liked this, please consider leaving a comment, thank you! <3


End file.
